


Used To Receiving Flowers

by speck_of_dust



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Biana gets letters from a secret admirer but spoiler alert, Ended up procrastinating all my homework but whatever, F/F, Flowers, I finished a huge project and five hours later inspiration struck for this, I know nothing about flower meanings I had to google it, I'm overdoing this tags thing aren't I, I'm so gay for Biana it's not even funny anymore, It's me writing them, Language of Flowers, Secret Admirer, Thank you google, You'll have to read to figure out the other half of the ship lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speck_of_dust/pseuds/speck_of_dust
Summary: Biana Vacker is used to receiving flowers.But a secret admirer? This is something new.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: All_Hail_Queen_Biana





	Used To Receiving Flowers

**BIANA VACKER IS USED TO RECEIVING FLOWERS.**

And all sorts of gifts, really; chocolates, jewelry, compliments, but flowers are the most common. Because she's Biana Vacker. No, the _Biana_ part doesn't matter. People don't love her because she's _Biana_. People love her because she's a Vacker. They love her because she's the spitting image of her mother, an unattainable, untouchable goddess with dark hair flowing over her bare, bronze shoulders like a waterfall, with the hint of a playful smile on her face whenever she goes out in public, because she was taught to appear pleasant and just the slightest bit mysterious.

They love her eyelashes, dark and long, fluttering over those teal eyes. They love the curve of her calf, the slope of her shoulder, the hourglass shape of her waist. They love the way her dress flutters around her ankles, how her collar reveals just the hint of cleavage, the sparkles and glitter of her outfits. They love the makeup she paints on her face, the way it makes her skin flawless and her lips red and her eyes pop.

(They don't see the bags under her eyes, because no one does. She makes sure of that.)

No one loves the way her dress leaves her back bare, her shoulders and neck exposed. No one loves her scars.

But because she's Biana Vacker, they're willing to put aside the barest wisp of a flaw, a scratch on the painting, because the rest of it is still a masterpiece.

(It. They see her as an _it_. A painting. An object.)

Everyone thinks Biana is beautiful, and for that, they love her. Or they think they do. They think they love her, as a girl, but really, they love her the way someone loves a work of art. Or how they love sunlight glinting off the ocean as foamy waves crash against the shore.

Thinking someone is beautiful isn't the same as loving them.

(Biana would know. No matter how much she tried to tell herself Keefe's Hair was hotter than everblaze or his smirk should make her weak in the knees, she could never feel anything beyond conceding he's not a terrible sight to look at. No matter how much she tried.)

Everyone thinks they love her, because they think she's beautiful.

She isn't even all that beautiful. Long hours of staring into the mirror, wishing her jawline could be just a little bit different, her nose a little bit smaller, her waist a little bit thinner, have turned her body into something that just looks simply _wrong_. All the angles and curves and scars. Seeing the same word repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over makes it look like no longer a word.

She does the same with her body. Stares at it until it doesn't look like a person anymore. Just an entity of wrongness.

But the boys stare at her, (shamelessly, for hours on end, and she doesn't even want to know what happens if they get hold of any photographs), and they don't seem to think she looks wrong.

They continue to idolize her. And think they love her.

She doesn't think she's beautiful anymore, but they do. They think she's beautiful, and they think they love her, so they send her flowers.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers, and she hates it.

Most of the time, she gets roses. Symbolizing love.

(She's memorized what various types of flowers symbolize. It can sometimes be amusing to see what hidden messages the bouquets hold, even though the boys probably just choose the ones they think look pretty. Still, seeing that they gave her purple candytufts and finding out they stand for indifference is worthy of some laughter.)

But the roses symbolize love. So do tulips, and violets- all the common ones, really.

Even the most uneducated of floral admirers must know roses mean love. And when they give her roses... they're telling her they love her.

They don't. They _don't_ love her. If they love anything, it's her image, and even that isn't real.

None of the admirers love her, none of the boys nervously handing her bouquets while staring at the ground and mumbling, none of them love her. Which is why she snatches the flowers from their hands and turns away without a word, stomping off impressively quickly in her heeled shoes. She's leaving the guy to stand wondering what he did wrong, but she doesn't care.

It's so _infuriating._

She's just a face. And not even a very pretty one, beyond the facade.

Sometimes, Biana gets petunias. That always makes her laugh, albeit a mocking sort of way. Anger. It's more accurate than love, at least.

As she gets more and more flowers from fake lovers, she beings to wonder whether or not anyone will really love her. Love her for her, not for her looks. For the girl who's strong, occasionally confident, the one who drives herself to be perfect, the one who loves to laugh, who cries instead because she can never be good _enough_ , who wears makeup and flashy clothes because yes, they make her look good, but really, all she wants is for someone to see her. To see her, not her face, not the Vacker in the shadow of her oh-so-perfect family, not, ironically, the Vanisher.

She doesn't want to be seen as just Hot Girl Vacker. Biana wants them to see _Biana_. To love _Biana._

But as time flies by, it grows increasingly less likely anyone will fall in love with anyone beyond Hot Girl Vacker.

Flowers arrive for Hot Girl Vacker. Not for Biana.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers, but she's never actually gotten any delivered to her locker before. It's usually to her house, or in person. And there's a note attached. That's something new.

She holds it, too afraid to open the note. Maybe it will say something she longs to read, poetry about the girl instead of the face, words she would dream might be whispered in her ear after a soft, tender kiss.

She is going to be very disappointed if the message is nothing more than "you're pretty." Or beautiful, gorgeous, any variant.

It's all terrible.

So, too afraid to let her carefully built hopes shatter into pieces, heart along with it, she looks at the flowers. Geranium. This is a new one, something she's never seen delivered to her before. It takes her a moment to remember what they mean.

Friendship.

Do friends gift each other flowers?

They could, she supposed, heart sinking.

Biana sighs. She should have known better. Still, she opens the note. Just because her friends aren't in love with her, doesn't mean they don't love her. Maybe they even love her beyond her face, her status, her ability.

Maybe. She doesn't know for sure.

But still, this was her one chance to find someone who was _in love_ with her. Really in love, not the fake delusions of love behind all the other flowers.

 _Dear Biana,_ it reads, in a loopy scrawl she doesn't quite recognize. _I'm doing this, aren't I? If you're reading this, I guess I am. Or if you're my dad, finding this in the trash after another discarded attempt at pouring all the feelings in my head onto a flimsy sheet of paper with no more than a pen and a geranium I spontaneously purchased in a bout of crush ridden madness... Hi, Dad._

 _Oh, I don't want to do this. Why did I decide to do this? I feel like an idiot. Scratch that, I_ am _an idiot._

_Maybe it's a good thing you can't see me right now, Biana. I'm blushing like a fool._

_But that's what you do, Biana. You turn the most eloquent of elves (haha, I'm not actually that eloquent) into fools._

_It's not just your beauty, though trust me, you are very beautiful._

Biana's breath catches. She reads the words, over and over and over, waiting for them to morph into something different, to vanish and leave no trace they were ever there. She continues scanning that beautiful, beautiful sentence, but it doesn't turn into something unrecognizable. They keep shining on the page. It's not just her beauty. This person doesn't only like her for her beauty.

And it does seem quite like they like her.

_But you're not just beautiful, Biana Amberly Vacker, and anyone who thinks that's all you are is even more of a fool than me. And it's not because you're a Vacker either._

_I like you, Biana, if you hadn't guessed already. I like you a lot. You seem to draw me in with a type of gravity, like you are the planet and I am a moon, always in orbit, but never able to really approach._

_(Okay, maybe I can occasionally be eloquent.)_

_I like you, and I like you because... well... you're you. You make me laugh, and you make me smile, and you make me blush like my head is about to explode. You're always kind to anyone who needs it, but if someone deserves it, you're able and willing to destroy them, and still look gorgeous all the while. You're so strong, and so brave, and you always look so confident._

_Some people think your scars make you less beautiful. I disagree._

_Your scars make you beautiful, because you were brave enough to fight when you got them. Your scars make you beautiful, because they show you're an elf like the rest of us, someone I can maybe, someday, hope to attain. Most of all, your scars make you beautiful because you're not ashamed of them, nor should you be. You wear them with pride._

_And that makes you beautiful, but not in the way most people think. They don't make your face beautiful. Well, obviously they don't make your face beautiful. I guess they don't make your body beautiful?_

_They make_ you _beautiful, they make the essence of Biana Amberly Vacker someone even more beautiful. The thing one might call a soul, if they believed in that sort of thing._

_(Do you believe in that sort of thing? I don't know that about you. There's a lot I don't know about you. I'd like to fix that.)_

_Anyway, the flower I gave you is a geranium. Did you know that already? You might have known that already. Geraniums mean friendship. You might have known that already too._

_If you have..._ eyes _... you've probably realized this is not exactly a letter of friendship. Because when I wax poetic about how much I like you, I don't mean it in a friendship way. But I have you flowers for friendship, because that's what we are now, and maybe that's what we'll always be._

_Nevertheless, I'm going to keep hoping._

_If something other than friendship is something you'd be willing to consider (or if you want to formally reject me, or talk while preserving my anonymity), leave a note here. I'll find it. Not to sound like a stalker or anything._

_-Secret Admirer._

Biana rereads the letter over and over, mouth hanging in shock, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Her insides heat up, like comforting warmth. Sitting around a campfire after so long stranded in a snowy wilderness.

This is everything she hoped for. This is... perfect.

She clutches the flower between her fingers, and unlike the other flowers she's received, this one is going to be kept in her room, in a vase. She wants to look at it every day, be reminded that finally, _finally_ , someone isn't just giving her a flower because of how she looks.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers, but she's never given them to anyone before. Still, after flying through her lessons in a daze and deflecting questions about why she looks so stupidly happy during lunch, she finds herself at the florist in Atlantis.

The florist, a woman named Aza, recognizes her, even though she's never made any purchases. Mostly, she hangs around, asking Aza to identify flowers and their meaning. She learned everything about floral symbolism here.

So when she swings open the door, making the little bell ring, and approaches the counter with the sweet scent of flowers heavy in the air, Aza grins, tying back her coily black hair. "What kind of message did he give you this time?"

Biana blushes. "I'm here to... send someone a message of my own." She pauses. "That sounded threatening. I want to give someone flowers."

"Ooh!" Aza's eyes widen, her grin widening. She claps her hands together. "Who's the lucky elf?"

"Well... I don't exactly know that." Biana shuffles her feet, still blushing.

Cocking her head to the side, Aza rests her elbows on the counter, leaning forward. "Do tell."

Biana sighs. She doesn't know what she expected to happen. Of course Aza would want to know the details. Part of the reason she loved working here, she'd once confided in Biana, was all the romance gossip it brought. She fingers the note, which hasn't left her pocket since she received it, and says "I got a letter from a secret admirer."

"This is _amazing_!" Aza exclaims, clapping her hands together. "Can I read it?"

Unconsciously, Biana takes a step back. "No," she mumbles, her grip tightening. She doesn't know why she refused to instantly, but doesn't change her mind. The note feels... oddly personal. It's special to her now, and showing it to someone else would destroy some of the magic it holds.

"You're no fun," pouts Aza.

"Sorry."

"Can you at least tell me what it says?"

With another sigh, she summarizes it; the writer calling her beautiful, but going on to see her personality, explaining how it was Biana who captured that, not Hot Girl Vacker. Of course, the author didn't use the name Hot Girl Vacker. But after receiving so many flowers, chocolates, compliments, et cetera, intended for Hot Girl Vacker, the other sort of identity, the person other people see, has become ingrained in her mind, permanently associated with love letters.

Was this a love letter? The room increased by ten degrees.

"Well," says Aza when she finishes. "You're smitten."

"I know." Biana groans.

"Don't worry about it. At your age, it's perfectly normal to have a crush." Something glints in Aza's eyes, a teasing smile on her lips.

Biana sticks out her tongue. "Can I have some carnations? For gratitude?"

With a nod, Aza reaches for a basket of flowers to her left. She hands Biana a few. Biana hands her some money.

"Good luck with him!" calls Aza.

Biana stays silent, but a part of her hopes the admirer isn't a _him_ at all.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers; why is she so excited when she sees another at her locker? It's been three days since she returned hers, with a scribbled attempt at explaining how much the admirer's initial note meant to her and a hope that they could write more soon. The gifts are nothing new, but the note... that's what she's excited about.

The flower is a jasmine. Biana blushes when she remembers what it means. _Romance._

They've moved past the friendship flower. A stupid grin comes over her face. She gingerly unfolds the note.

_Dear Biana,_

_You liked that, huh? Weird. I kind of thought I sounded like an idiot, but if you liked it, I'll be glad to write more idiot ramblings about how much I like you. This secret admirer is at your service, m'lady._

_This flower is a jasmine, romance, though again, you probably already know that._

_Because I gave you geraniums last time, friendship. And you are my friend, so it wasn't factually incorrect._

_But as you know, friendship isn't all I want from you. So now, it's romance. The flower, that is. Not our relationship. But maybe, if you'd like..._

_Well, a girl can hope._

Biana's heart quickens. A girl. A girl. The admirer is a girl.

And Biana likes girls. Even though she's probably not supposed to, because it's all fine for girls to like girls and boys to like boys when they're in the working class, but a noble elf, especially a _Vacker_ , is supposed to be above that. She's never told anyone she likes girls, because she can only imagine the shame that would follow, the fall from grace. And since she works so hard to be perfect, to uphold her family's honor, she can't have that.

Biana likes girls, and now... a girl likes her too. A girl she might like back. Just a little bit. The faint spark of a crush, the very beginning of it beginning to blossom, but a crush nonetheless. And maybe someday, it'll develop into something bigger. Something new. She hopes so. Maybe some day, the admirer will reveal herself, and they can be together. For real.

Exist in the world, not just in this beautiful space of reading letters in a third place that seems almost separately. She loves that third space, but it would be incredible, to meet this admirer for real.

She keeps reading.

_Right. I'm a girl. Hopefully that's cool. I know you're not homophobic, but I have no idea whether or not you're straight._

_You probably are. But again, a girl can hope._

Biana has to laugh. She is definitely not straight.

_Um... yeah. Anyway._

_You smiled at me today, or at least at the today I wrote this. (It takes me a while to work up the courage, you know.) Actually, I'm not even sure if you were smiling at_ me _. Maybe you were just smiling._

_Even so, when I saw your smile, the world tilted. Everything blurred, except for you. You came into focus, until everything else faded away and I could only see your red lips curled into happiness. I forgot how to breath. If I could bottle the way your smile made me feel, and drink it, I would. That would probably be more effective than any elixir in the Healing Center. The way your smile made me feel could cure any ailment._

_When you smile, Biana, you seem to glow. Well, you always glow. But you glowed even brighter today._

_-Secret Admirer._

Biana smiles.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers, and soon, the admirer's notes become a regular occurrence as well.

It never stops being any less incredible, though.

Her next letter assures the admirer that she does, in fact, like girls. It was one of the most terrifying things she'd ever done, including fight the Neverseen. That was nothing, compared to this. Coming out. It was to an anonymous writer, barely even a real person, but there was a person reading her words. And that terrified her.

It was a little exhilarating too. Like falling. It left Biana breathless, cheeks flushed, goosebumps pricking her skin.

But the admirer replied with an amaryllis flower. For pride.

And her feelings solidified into something real. Something more than a fleeting crush, a hope of what might be. This person, this girl, this admirer; Biana trusted her, and she told Biana exactly what she needed to hear. She knew Biana, understood her in a way no one else did. No one else ever could, she didn't think.

Biana didn't tell her admirer yet, even though that might have been selfish. She wanted to nurse her feelings, keep them a precious secret like she hid the note from Aza, maybe sort through them until she could quite make sense of how she felt about this girl with the beautiful words and the beautiful messages and the beautiful flowers.

She gave her admirer irises for trust; the admirer replied with Persian violets for sincerity. A promise that her feelings were real, and not because of beauty. Not an illusion like so many other admirers Biana used to have. This admirer promised sincerity when she said she liked _Biana_ and not Hot Girl Vacker, the words she actually used after Biana confided in her about the facade everyone else thought they loved.

Poppies for hope, that one day, they might be more than a distant fantasy, an exchange of letters and flowers. Frost flowers for patience, because the admirer understood, she knew this was something to be savored, taken slowly. A freezing pool they had to dip a toe in before jumping headfirst.

But once Biana jumped, she was ready for the water to rush over her head, engulf her. She wanted to drown in feelings for this admirer.

She didn't even know this girl's name, and she wanted to drown.

Devotion shown by crysanthemums. Confidence from dahlias, because this admirer made Biana feel confident in herself. She was someone worth loving, not just because a pretty face that may or may not really be beautiful. The admirer made Biana feel confident in her looks, but she also gave Biana so much more.

She helped Biana gain confidence in _herself_. Confidence that she was truly beautiful, beyond a facade, beyond makeup, beyond glittery dresses, beyond a figure or a face. Beyond anything visible.

Countless gifts had been bestowed on Biana because of her beauty, but the admirer was the only one to really make her feel beautiful.

The admirer gave her a lotus next. Beauty.

Other than Aza, Biana never told anyone about her secret admirer. It felt like a betrayal of some sort. Even so, everyone noticed she was suddenly happier. Her family, friends, even Sophie. When Sophie noticed something, it was serious.

Gifts continue to circulate between Biana and her admirer.

The most recent in a string of flowers; marigolds. Happiness.

_Dear Biana,_

_You make me happy. I hope you know that._

_You've made me happy for such a long time. I didn't know I liked you when I first saw your face, because love at first sight is a completely made up concept prioritizing looks, but I've known for a while. Ever since we went to Nightfall, and you fought Vespera. When I found you passed out in a pool of blood, romantic as that sounds._

_I couldn't feel anything but relief you were alive. Sadness you were hurt. Anger at Vespera for hurting you. Admiration for your courage and strength. It was a whole mess of emotion, really. And romance was there in the mix, very distinctly._

_I've been falling for you since that moment._

_-Secret Admirer._

Biana reads it over again, drinking in the words like she is dying in the desert and they are water. She's falling too, deeper with each word she reads. Biana is falling, falling, falling, and she'll never come back up.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers, used to receiving declarations of love. It's nothing new to her. Almost mundane, really, to learn that yet another elf thinks himself in love with an appearance. She doesn't think she deserves all those love letters, not for something accomplished by genetics. The so-called love makes her supremely uncomfortable, really, but she's used to it by now.

The rose still falls through her fingers when she finds it.

All of the admirers flowers have meaning in them, not just whatever she thinks looks pretty, or seems romantic. They all have meaning. And if roses mean love...

With trembling fingers, Biana unfolds the note.

_Dear Biana,_

_I'm sure you've figured it out by now. Roses. Love. It's not exactly difficult to make this connection. But it's difficult to say the words. Probably difficult to see them too, not that I'd know. It's not difficult to know roses mean love, but it's difficult to process me loving you. Difficult for me too._

_It's difficult, but oh-so-wonderful. Falling in love with you has been... a journey. One I would go through again and again, even with all the 'unattainable girl' angst surrounding my initial realization. I love you, and I love being in love with you._

_I know a lot of people say they love you. Mostly because you're beautiful. And I've said it before, I've said it again, you_ _are_ so _beautiful, but that's not why I'm in love with you. And I hope you believe me._

_You're amazing, Biana. And it's okay if you're not ready to love me back, not yet. Or if not ever. I can't control your feelings. But it's been suffocating me, and I needed to tell you, so I could breathe air again._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._ _I want to say it constantly, every day. I want to say it to you waking up in the morning and turning the lights off to go to sleep. I want to tell everyone in the world. I want to scream it from the rooftops._

_I love you, Biana Amberly Vacker._

_...-Marella._

Air whooshes from Biana's lungs, escaping her in one exhilarated exhale.

She knows who her secret admirer is. Her secret admirer is no longer secret. Marella. It's Marella, Marella Redek. Marella has been sending her the letters all this time, weaving poetry and palaces with placements of a pen, capturing Biana's heart with every sentence.

Marella is the one Marella has been falling for in return.

There is a name for her admirer. A face. An elf behind the words.

Someone she can really build something with, something beyond notes and flowers.

"I love you too," she whispers. It was meant for the air to hear, but then arms wrap around her from behind, a squeal emitting from a voice easily identifiable as Marella's. (They've squealed about Keefe and Tam enough for it to be recognizable.) Biana yelps slightly, laughing, as she untangles Marella's hands from her and turns around, facing the girl. Her admirer.

"You," she breathes, hoping the single syllable carries the weight of all the things she can't put into words.

Marella nods. She takes Biana's hand in hers, wrapping their fingers together, and bends over slightly to press her lips to Biana's knuckles. The inside of Biana melts like a freshly baked, gooey slice of mallowmelt. This is sweeter. "Me," Marella repeats, standing back up. Sheepishly, she looks down, handing Biana another rose. "I love you, Biana. In case I didn't make it clear."

Biana laughs slightly. Her cheeks pink as she takes the rose. With her other hand, she reaches for Marella's face, letting her fingers tangle in her admirer's hair. "I'm not as eloquent as you," she says, voice low pitched and soft. "So I'll try to show you how I feel instead."

They draw closer, noses touching. Biana gives Marella the chance to pull away, warm breath tickling her cheeks. When she doesn't, Biana closes the gap.

Everything Marella's words have ever made her feel... they're all there, combined, intensified. Wow, is the only thing she can think, mind wiped clean by shock and pure delight.

* * *

Biana is used to receiving flowers. Once upon a time, she even hated the gifts. But that was before a girl with beautiful, meaningful flowers and beautiful, meaningful words to go along with them came along and captured her heart. And Biana will never, never be used to the way her no-longer-secret admirer's flowers and notes draw her closer to Marella, a gravity as they orbit each other. It's such a new, incredible feeling each time. She hopes it never becomes common or dull.

Biana hopes she never grows used to receiving flowers from Marella.


End file.
